Sudden Phobia
by ToT1
Summary: When eight of the boys have an awful accident, something gets scrambled in their minds causing them to have phobias of *interesting* kinds. What will happen when they are confined to the Lodging House? (All hell will break lose...)
1. Mud, Muck, and a Paperball Fight

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Author: ToT

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Title: Sudden Phobia

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Disclaimer: Usual. I don't own the newsies.

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Opening Comments: Uh, well, this was *supposed* to be serious, but it turned into a comedy. ^^;; Oh well. I've more than made up for it with my Hallowe'en fic that'll hopefully be finished by Hallowe'en, but no guarantees. ^_^ So, yeah. I apologize to those of you who are, apparently, having a hard time understanding the New Yawk dialect. Here's a basic overview: I don't tend to put in the 'h' sound. Ise=I; Sose=so; Wese=we; and everything else should be self-explanatory. T'anks!

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Chapter One: "Mud, Muck, and a Paperball Fight"

Lightning flashed and thunder closely followed. The people in the streets quickly fled as the rain poured down in sheets. Little children cried and street corner performers cursed. Everyone left the streets and they were deserted. Except for a lone group of newsies, who didn't seem to mind the rain much at all. They balled up their unsold, wet papers and threw them at each other like snowballs while some slid through mud. (Whether or not it _was_ really mud didn't much matter--it was fun to play in.)

The select octave or so of newsies also were oblivious to what was going on around the,. In fact, they had no time to react when

Pardon me. That's for later.

I should probably set the stage for you before I begin, eh? The newsies that were running rampant in the streets while they slowly progressed to the Lodging House were as follows:

Jack. Of course the dreamer was there. The fearless cowboy was, you know, the ringleader of most (or all, some would argue) newsies advancements during the strike. How could he not be in this story?

Spot. The Brooklyn leader was on a visit. He is the small, tough-guy--but all-round puppy dog--of the hereafter mentioned. What is a story without this one?

Kid Blink. The lady-loving charmer (and our _real_ fearless leader). Good looks, charisma, wit, and an eyepatch. Not to mention voice. Pretty… Erm, yes. This sandy-haired cutie is an essential.

Mush. Ah, the innocent one… Only in looks, however. The deceiving mind of this sweetheart is sure to catch any girl. (_And_ Blink--just kidding!) Can't you just see him frolicking through meadows of sweetly perfumed flowers? One would never suspect that he, too, is involved in all of Blink's scams. They're like a lock and key--you can't use one without the other.

Racetrack. What more to say? Gambles, cracks jokes, and loves horses (even if just to bet on them). Only naturally he has to be in here! It's a comedy, right?

Specs. The--more or less--rational head of them all. His level-headedness and slight education are a few reasons for the others to poke fun at. Comedy… What a wonderful word. He's here to be "mother hen". Or father--as the case may be.

Dutchy. Another lock:key analogy. Without Dutchy, Specs really doesn't have much of a purpose (as Stage has so lovingly taught us). The blonde, spectacled newsie is here for one reason and one reason only: It wouldn't be much of a comic story--if a story at all--without him!

Skittery. Last, but very far from being the least. This sullen character is here to somber up the story--we all need it sometime. Think of him as…well, Ritalin for Dutchy and the rest of the comedians. He has his purpose.

These are the eight that are playing in the rain on a cobblestone street in the square.

Now I think that I need to start the story over--don't you? And this time, I'll finish without any interruptions. I promise.

It was unexpected in the sense that it came out of nowhere. The sudden attack, pelting you and soaking you to the bone. The bright flashes threatened to strike rooftops and trees and loud exclamations of thunder repeated to rejoice in the screams of children. The streets were quickly cleared of all life--even the ally cats and stray dogs raced to find shelter under crates, trees, or on doorsteps. Horses were sheeted and fireplaces were lit.

All was silent except for the rhythmic pounding of rain and the occasional outburst of thunder. All was so, that is, until the boys came gallivanting out of random sections of the square. Mush, who had been skipping and flipping, lost his footing and slid into the gutter. Blink joined him. Dutchy rolled up a newspaper and threw it at the back of Specs' head. The curly-haired brunette's fedora flew forward into a puddle and the newsies turned around. He was about to scold his friend when he got another paper smack in the face. He then decided it was best to screw over the disciplinary speech and retaliate. Thus the paperball fight began.

"Didn' Ise tell youse dat it was gonna rain?" Skittery asked, walking up to where Jack, Spot, and Racetrack were talking.

"Yea, whatevah, Skit," Race said, nodding and paying the taller newsie the two bits he'd bet him. "Two ta one Dutchy beats Specs!"

"Bum odds," Spot and Jack said in unison.

Specs overheard this. "Hey! Eat dis, ya bums!" he hollered, throwing wet papers at the group by the statue.

"Dis is war, Specs!" Spot yelled, taking aim.

Fairly soon, all eight--this, obviously, includes Skittery--were muddy, paperball-throwing monsters. By the time they decided to head into the Lodging House, the rain had stopped and each boy was dripping from head to toe and drenched to the bones. Shivering, they walked in clumps and the sun came out from behind the dark clouds. The mud began to cake and dry in their hair and on their skin and clothes. The mud that wasn't mud began to reek and the boys realized what they had been playing half the time.

"Great. Now wese all smell like 'orses," Skittery mumbled.

Racetrack took a grand whiff in. "An' ain't it a great smell?" In response, he got more wet papers thrown at him.

Mush and Blink looked at each other with devious, twin grins. "Wese'll beatcha all dere!" they yelled, barreling through the six in front of them. The others quickly followed in hot pursuit. However, they weren't watching when they rounded the corner just ten feet away from their sanctuary. The carriage couldn't stop fast enough. The two pairs of horses reared and skidded to a halt while the carriage itself fishtailed and sung around, knocking all of the newsies to the ground; some getting trapped underneath, some just hitting their heads on the cobblestones.

The dust cleared and the driver, who had jumped off before the carriage tipped over, frantically raced over to where the fallen newsies lay. None of them were moving.

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Closing Comments: Bwaha!! Cliffhanger!! I know, I know. You're probably asking, "Where's the comedy in _this_?!" Well, my friends, the best is yet to come. I assure you, the best is yet to come… grins evilly ~ToT


	2. Anthrophobia

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Author: ToT

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Title: Sudden Phobia

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Disclaimer: Usual. I don't own the newsies.

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Opening Comments: This has managed to revert back to being a serious fic with comedy inserted. How I did it--no one knows and no one ever will. Including me. So, yeah. I apologize to those of you who are, apparently, having a hard time understanding the New Yawk dialect. Here's a basic overview: I don't tend to put in the 'h' sound. Ise=I; Sose=so; Wese=we; 'r=or; 're=are; and everything else should be self-explanatory. T'anks!

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Chapter Two: "Anthrophobia"

Mush slowly opened his eyes only to close them again in pain caused by the bright sunlight. He attempted to sit up, but his throbbing head prevented him from doing so.

After about two minutes of lying in bed, he tried again--this time he slowly and painfully made his way to a sitting position. Seeing no one else around, he tried his voice. That didn't work so well. Next he tried his feet, but as soon as he put weight on his right one, a rush of pain flew up his leg and through his body. He quickly collapsed back onto the bed.

'So much fer tryin' ta go ta da badt'room,' he thought.

A head had appeared around the corner of a bunk and tiptoed to Mush's from behind.

"Good mornin'!" the head exclaimed.

Mush jumped and turned, wide-eyed, around to see a smiling Blink.

"Whaddya goa an' do _dat_ fer?!" Mush demanded hoarsely, making his voice work and smiling back.

Blink shrugged. "Youse c'n be fun ta scare. How're ya feelin'?" The tone of Blink's voice was suddenly serious.

"Oh, foine, Ise giss. Me 'ead hoits an' Ise c'n't stand up 'cause dere's sumptin' wrong wid me ankle, but oddahwise Ise is okay," Mush replied, nodding toward his swollen ankle.

"Yea. Youse must've gotten hit on da 'ead da woist on account a youse is da last up."

" 'Ow long've Ise been sleepin' fer?"

" 'Bout two 'r t'ree dyas," the blue-eyed boy estimated, leaning on the bedpost.

"Jeez. What 'xactly 'appened, Blink? Ise don' remembah anyt'in' much past a pape fight."

"Dat's 'bout as much as any of us remembah. But Kloppmann said dat dere was a carriage wid four 'orses pullin' it dat came outta nowhere in a hurry an' crashed straight inta us. None a us've been able ta leave da Lodgin' House. Aldough," Blink added, "Spot was rushed directly back ta Brooklyn. Wese was 'parently racin' back heah an' he was in front, so he got da woist a it."

" 'Ow's everyone else?"

"Well, Jack's pretty okay 'sides a couple a bumps an' bruises from da cobblestones. He was last so he got da least a it.

"Spot'll be okay. As far as wese know, he's still in da 'ospital an' hasn' woken up yet. He broke…sumptin'. Ise c'n't remembah.

"Ise've jes' sprained me wrist an' got a black mark 'round where me patch was. See? Somebody fell on me face.

"Specs' glasses 're broke an' both his eyes 're black. His eyes were so swollen dat, fer awhile, he couldn' see. His new glasses should be comin' tamarrah.

"Dutchy's watch got broken--he was really upset 'bout dat. An' he's got bruised ribs.

"Race broke two fingahs on his right hand an' his wrist is broken, too.

"Skit's shoulder got misplaced 'r popped out 'r whatevah da doc called it. He also got his knee screwed up somehow."

"Do ya know what's wrong wid me ankle?" Mush asked.

"Yea. 'S jes' sprained real bad. Ise is supposed ta 'elp youse downstairs fer breakfast--'r whenevah youse woke up."

"C'n wese go now?" Mush inquired again.

"Sure. C'mon," Blink encouraged, helping his buddy to his feet.

A few excruciating minutes later, Mush had successfully sat down at the table where the five other newsies--six with Blink--were seated.

"Well, well. Lookit who's up at breakfast toime two days latah. Pay up, fellas!" Racetrack smiled as he gathered up the coins that were pushed his way with his good hand.

"Good mornin' ta youse, too, Race," Mush grinned. "Ise see dat Ise wasn' missed all dat much."

"Aw, dat ain't true, Mush," Dutchy said. "Even Skit heah's been askin' 'bout youse," he supplemented, nodding toward the frowning boy.

"Eh. Ise was jes' worried. Nut'in' loike how Blink's been sulkin' 'round," Skittery added defensively.

"He's me best friend!" Blink shot back, going red at the suggestion.

Mush smirked. "Ehy, ehy! Dere's plenty a Mush ta go 'round. No need ta foight. Settle down dere." Everyone laughed while Blink flushed darker and Skittery glared. Well, everyone but Dutchy who had to try and restrain himself due to the pain.

"Ehy! Didja tell Mush 'bout all a da flowahs wese've been gettin'?" Racetrack asked Blink after composing himself and the laughter had died down. " 'Specially from da goils," he added a sly grin.

"Nah, Blink didn' tell me. 'Ow many 're fer me?" Mush asked, smiling coyly.

"Eh… 'S hard ta giss. Wanna go an' see 'em?" Specs questioned.

"Yea!" Mush exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his chair. "Er… Blink? Couldja 'elp me up?" he asked, flushing at his handicap.

"A course," Blink responded, getting up and stabilizing Mush.

Skitter was the only one left sitting. "Ise really don' see what's da big deal 'bout some flowahs dat some goils sent us. Most of dem wese pro'ly don' know anyways." He continued to ramble. But he got up and followed the others to the lobby where Kloppmann was seated behind the front desk.

"Okay, Mush," Jack said delightedly. Everyone knew how much the young-hearted newsie loved flowers--especially ones from girls.

Mush, who had covered his eyes under specific instruction from his fellow newsies, walked into the room.

"C'n Ise open me eyes yet?" he asked. After a chorus of 'yes's, he disclosed his eyes to the sight in front of him--and had a panic attack.

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Closing Comments: Yes, the time has come… XD runs off to wreak more havoc on unsuspecting newsies ~ToT


	3. Sciophobia

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Author: ToT

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Title: Sudden Phobia

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Disclaimer: Usual. I don't own the newsies.

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Opening Comments: Hello all. bows to Stage Thankies for all of the plugs. bows to readers You like me! You really like me! Yes, so this installation is up. FYI, so I don't get yelled at, "colahs" is colors. mutters Why people can't keep up with a New Yawk accent is beyond me. I won't keep you from reading any longer; do continue.

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Chapter Three: "Sciophobia"

After Mush had recovered from his attack, the others questioned him from his sitting position in a corner of the bunkroom.

"Mush, what 'appened?" was the most common.

The still-shaken boy shrugged. "Ise dunno. Ise was all excited ta see da flowahs, but den--" He began to shudder violently. "Da colahs… Da smell… Dey're gonna git me!" he shrieked extemporaneously. He backed further into the corner. There he sat; shaking, sweating, and facing the wall.

"What're gonna come an' git youse, Mush?" Specs asked.

"Da flowahs… Dey's gonna eat me," he answered monotonously.

Specs went to push his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, but he remembered that they were not there, so he turned to face his puzzled friends.

"Somet'in' must've 'appened when da carriage came in contact wid Mush. He's scared half ta death a flowahs now."

"Listen ta da scientist tawk like he knows everyt'in'," Skittery grumbled.

"Youse got a bettah theory?" Dutchy shot back, defending his friend.

"Hey, knawk it awff," Jack said tersely. "No more accidents."

Specs cleared his throat and continued. "Ise wanna do some tests ta see if anyt'in' 'appened ta da rest a us, too." He shook his head. "Ise jes' don' where ta start."

"Well, dere's lots a stuff ta be scared of outside, so let's start dere," Racetrack suggested.

"Youse go ahead," Blink said. "Ise is gonna stay heah wid Mush." The tall blonde boy walked over to his now insane friend who was ever muttering about the flowers from hell.

The other five turned, shaking their heads in puzzlement and confusion, out of the bunkroom.

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The boys squinted into the sunlight. They aimlessly walked around the square, which was unusually uncrowded. That, perhaps, was due to the extremely humid conditions of the July afternoon.

After walking randomly around a few more times, Racetrack had a brilliant idea:

"Let's do something!"

The others looked from him to each other and back to him like, "What a genius" and "We have a smart one on our hands".

Skittery spoke first. "An' what d'ya suppose wese do?"

Race shrugged. "Dunno. A game?"

"Naw. Let's go sell papes. Ya know, woik on our day awff," Dutchy muttered sardonically.

"Dat don' sound like too much fun, dere Dutch," Jack said, obviously not picking up on his friend's tone.

"Wese could play shadow tag," Specs suggested, shrugging.

"Ise ain't playin' no stupid kiddie game," Skittery informed while leaning on a railing.

"Suit yerself," Dutchy replied.

"Yea. Youse is always missin' out on all a da fun, Skit," Race said, putting his hand on Skittery's shoulder. Skittery shrugged it off.

The boy sat there, watching all of his friends indulge in getting hot, sweaty, and short-of-breath while pathetically trying to step on each other's shadows.

The dark objects of the ground that were trying to avoid the contact with the heavy boots caught Skittery's attention and his eyes dilated. His steady grip on the iron pole grew to a white-knuckled pitch. Never blinking, he sat there, all the while sweating bullets and panting hard.

Jack noticed first. He walked concernedly over to his paling chum. "What's wrong, Skit?"

No answer.

"Skit? Skittery? Hey, Skittery!"

Skittery never moved. The other three boys saw their panicked buddy and, too, walked cautiously over.

The frightened, dark-haired teen saw them all approaching and yelled when he fell backward off of the railing.

He got up and brushed himself off. When he looked up, all he saw were the dark, human-like cast objects everywhere. Then there were the building shaped type. And the railing…everything.

"No! Put down da weapons!" he yelled at, seemingly, the ground.

Everyone did an about-face to see who was creeping up behind them, but no one was there.

"Hey ya, Skit? Are youse feelin' okay?" Racetrack asked, turning back to his friend and walking forward again.

Skittery's brown eyes went wide with terror as the sun projected Race's shadow forward.

The paranoid boy jumped backwards. "Don' let it suck me in dere!" he cried, falling over. He had crashed into a lamppost behind him.

Now on the ground, Skittery was extremely vulnerable to the black holes all around him reaching to pull him in.

Shaking and sweating--much like Mush--, Skittery had gotten so worked up that he began to feel light-headed. Dots began to swim in front of his eyes and all went black.

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Closing Comments: Yeah. That one was much like Mush's. The next one is different. Promise. ~ToT


	4. Brontophobia

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Author: ToT

Title: Sudden Phobia

Disclaimer: I don't own phobias either.

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Opening Comments: Hiya. I've eliminated most 'h' sounds at the beginning of the words in dialogue. mutters Someone still can't read a New Yawk accent. pouts and ponders I need to find a way to conceal the phobias better, eh? Y'all are just so smart. (Or I just really suck…) Anyway, is it just me, or is this turning into a "Specs-is-the-main-character" fic? just plain pouts It wasn't supposed ta. Oh well. Easily fixed for the next chapters I have to write out on paper. skips off to go write

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Chapter Four: "Brontophobia"

The remaining quartet looked on frightendly at their friend who lay on the cobblestone, covered from head to toe in sweat and still shaking violently.

"He might hit 'is 'ead on da cobblestone. Jack," Specs ordered, addressing the taller newsies, "pick 'im up. Wese is gonna need ta carry 'im 'ome. C'mon youse guys. Let's go back ta da Lodgin' 'Ouse."

"Yeah. Looks like it might storm again anyway," Race added rather pointlessly.

Jack slung Skittery over his shoulder with some difficulty and everyone slowly followed Specs home.

Racetrack was, indeed, right. Clouds had overcome the sun and they now ruled the sky. A clap of thunder resounded throughout the city and a sudden burst of heat lightning filled the darkness with a moment of intense light.

The former and latter kept a rhythmical time for awhile without rain. Then it came. A drop was felt by a few at first, then it attacked by surprise in sheets. The visibility became awful and the boys were drenched within a matter of seconds. Their steady walk became a quickly-paced jog--not wanting to slip, but wanting to get out of the onslaught of the sky's shedding tears.

Once safely inside their sanctuary, they all slopped up the stairs and Jack put Skittery down onto his rightful bunk. The dazed boy woke up and looked around confusedly though a wet mass of dark hair.

"Wha--. Where am I?" he asked.

"Youse is back in da Lodgin' 'Ouse. Youse 'ad a freak attack in da square like Mush; only youse was freakin' out 'bout sumptin' else. D'youse remembah?" Specs, who had perched on the end of the bunk, asked.

Skittery shook his head. "Nope. Ise jes'--" Here he stopped again.

Specs' face fell. His ashen-faced friend was staring at something on the wooden floor. The wavy-haired newsie followed Skittery's intense gaze and saw nothing but a sock, a cap, and a towel. None of which had been outside on the cobblestone of the square.

"Skit? What're youse lookin' at? Da cap?" No response. Specs tried again. "Da sock?" Nothing. "Skit, is it da towel?" Still silence. Frustratedly, Specs threw his arms up and stood. "Ise c'n't 'elp youse if youse don' tawk ta me, Skittery."

The sudden movement caught Skittery's large eyes. He snapped his head over toward Specs. The boy in the bed shrank ways from the standing one. "Make dem leave," he whispered.

Specs sat down again, his face twisted in confusion. "Make what leave, Skit?"

Skittery ducked under the threadbare sheets of his bunk seeking refuge. "Da black 'oles."

Specs looked at the quivering blanket quizzically. " 'Black 'oles'? What 'black 'oles', Skit?"

No response. Then, "Da black 'oles on da ground. 'S always movin'. Dey're everywhere," was the quiet reply.

Specs looked on the ground again. The only black moving object was--

"Shadows!" Specs exclaimed. He jumped up and ran over to where Racetrack and Jack were standing above Mush and Kid Blink. "Skittery's afraid a shadows!"

"What's Kid scared a?" Racetrack asked.

Specs face-faulted. "Not anuddah one…" he moaned.

Kid Blink was curled up in a little ball with his face to the wall and his hands clutched tightly over his ears. The one eye that was visible was firmly shut and Mush sat next to him, tears silently rolling down his cheeks in helplessness.

"God! Oh, God, make it stop! Make it stop!" the terrified newsies whimpered.

"When did dis start?" Specs demanded.

" 'E was like dis when wese walked in head," Jack said. "Only, 'e wasn' tawkin'."

The rain was still pounding on the tin roof and another whip of thunder and explosion of lightning sent Blink into more fits.

Jack looked up. "Is Dutchy still wid Skit?" he asked.

Specs' head shot up and his eyes went wide with hysteria.

"Where's…Dutchy?" he asked, breathing hard. Mush, Jack, and Racetrack all exchanged nervous glances.

"Ya…ya mean he ain't witch youse?" Race asked.

"Ise t'ought 'e was wid youse!" Specs yelled, frantically running out of the bunkroom.

Jogging down the stairs two at a time, he burst out the front door before Kloppmann could protest.

"Dutchy!" the brunette called. "Dutchy! Where'd ya go?! Dutchy!" His last call was drowned out by a thunderclap.

Specs tore off over the wet cobblestone, slipping and tripping every few yards. He retraced the group's steps five, then ten times. No Dutchy.

'Mebbe he's hoit… Mebbe he's layin' in some guttah--drowned… Mebbe he's been in anuddah accident an' he don' know where he is… Mebbe he fell awff da Brooklyn Bridge…'

These thoughts spurred Specs on, but the rain and the absence of his glasses impaired his vision.

After about ten more minutes of running around, the exhausted newsies collapsed into a dark, sheltered alleyway, and wept quietly.

Not long afterward, there came a crash and a whimpering sound was heard over the clatter.

Specs looked up, with some hope that it would be his friend. He heard muffled, slow footsteps coming from behind some crates and his hopes soared.

"Dutchy?"

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Closing Comments: looks back at ending Nice place to end, no? ^_^ Another awful chapter, and no, Stage, there is no slash. No slashy for me… At least not in this ficcy. Weeview me pwease. cough Mouse. cough ^_^ ~ToT


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